Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh: Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress / Stolen by the Sheikh / Fit For a Sheikh

He gave a faint smile. ‘Then I guess we’d better get the ordering out of the way.’

She glanced down at the menu, which was like a blur though she knew it backwards. ‘I’d like the Dover Sole, please. Grilled, no sauce. With a side salad.’

‘The choice of a woman on a diet,’ he observed.

‘Not at all. A woman who is careful about what she eats, that’s all.’

‘Careful?’ His black eyes glittered. ‘How very curious. Not a word I would have associated with you.’

She leaned forward. Big mistake—for now she was in full range of his subtle, spicy scent, and it crept over her like sensual fingers. She sat right back again. ‘Why don’t we clear something up before we go any further? You don’t know me. Maybe you never did— but you certainly don’t now. So you aren’t qualified to make any judgments about me. Understand?’

The waiter reappeared as Hashim glittered her a look which said Aren’t I? Sienna watched as he gave the order quickly, almost impatiently—like someone who had spent much of his life eating in expensive restaurants and was bored by them. She guessed he had.

And now take charge, she told herself. Behave like you would with any other new client. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a notebook. He eyed it with distaste.

‘Is that really necessary?’ he questioned acidly.

‘I’m afraid so. You wouldn’t be very happy if I forgot everything you told me, would you? And so far you haven’t told me anything.’

‘But you look like you’re interviewing me—and we’re in a restaurant!’

‘Well, you chose it.’

‘I know I did—but would you have agreed to dine in my suite if I had asked you?’

‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’ She looked at him, daring him to defy her. ‘Presumably you wanted me to be a captive audience?’

Hashim’s eyes narrowed as he considered her quickfire responses. Smart. And sassy. No matter how good an actress she was, she couldn’t play smart unless she really was smart. ‘Captive?’ he mused. ‘Yes, perhaps I did.’ He imagined her tied to his bed with black satin ribbons, wearing nothing but scarlet underwear and a pair of matching high heels, and he felt the heavy stab of an erection.

‘So, is it going to be a big party?’ Sienna asked, cutting into his erotic thoughts.

‘Party?’ With a distracted movement of his shoulders Hashim brought himself back to the subject in hand with an effort. ‘No. Very small. A private dinner party for ten.’

‘And the guest list?’

‘One of my assistants will organise that side of it. I am afraid that most of my guests will refuse to deal with a stranger.’

Defensively, Sienna picked up her water glass. ‘In that case I’m surprised I’ll be any use at all.’

‘But that is where you are wrong. You will be responsible for the event itself,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to organise the music—I thought perhaps a string quartet. And the lighting—I like lots of candles, by the way. And the wine and the food—of which there must be an interesting and imaginative vegetarian selection. The mood of the evening will be down to you, Sienna. Everything you need you must ask for, and it will be supplied.’

How effortless everything was when you were rich! You snapped your fingers and got what you wanted. Sienna allowed herself a small smile. Well, not quite everything. He couldn’t have her.

‘And what kind of ambience do you want?’ she questioned. ‘Is there any particular reason why you’re giving this party?’

There was one brief moment of hesitation. ‘As a thank-you,’ he said smoothly, running the tip of one finger reflectively along the soft linen of his napkin. ‘For some of the many people in England who have done me favours.’

Bizarrely, Sienna found herself wondering if that included sexual favours—but since his dark, lean looks were attracting all kinds of predatory glances maybe it wasn’t such a bizarre thought after all. ‘Have you thought which of the hotel’s function rooms you’d like? There are several.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘Or do you just want to me to choose?’

He stared at her. ‘But that is the whole point, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want it held here—or indeed in any hotel. A hotel is too impersonal for the needs of this particular event. I want you to find me a house.’

Sienna looked up from her pad and met the dark steel of his eyes. ‘What kind of house?’

‘A fine country house—with gardens and a view— a very English house. It should have at least ten bedrooms, so that my guests can stay overnight should they so desire it. There should be a lake which will magnify the light of the moon and double the number of stars. Somewhere that symbolises everything which is beautiful about your country. Can you do that for me, Sienna?’

The poetry of his words momentarily threw her, as did that fleeting, dreamy look which had softened his hard face, and she swallowed. ‘How long have I got?’

‘A month.’

‘A month? That isn’t long. Certainly not to find the kind of house you’re looking for.’

‘Are you saying you can’t do it?’

‘Oh, I can do it,’ she said. ‘But you might have trouble getting your guests there if they’ve only got four weeks. Important people have busy diaries—especially the kind of people I imagine you’ll be inviting.’

He gave a low laugh. ‘Please do not concern yourself on that score. They will attend,’ he said softly. ‘If I so wish it.’

‘By royal command?’ she mocked, resting her wrist against her water glass and enjoying the sudden cool sensation. ‘Tell me—just out of interest—have you spent your whole life getting exactly what you want?’

‘Material things, yes. That is, I imagine, what you meant?’

‘It wasn’t, actually.’

‘No?’ He studied the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Was he responsible for those? Or had some lover shared her bed last night—making use of her body and denying her sleep? He found himself unprepared for the dark jealousy which twisted his gut, and his voice hardened. ‘Money is the preoccupation of most women,’ he said harshly. ‘Surely not even you would deny that?’

How cynical he sounded. Sienna felt a wave of something like regret wash over her—for she had only helped to convince him that women would do all kinds of things for money. She wished the food would arrive, so that she could eat it and go. Yet wasn’t there a tiny part of her which was revelling in the opportunity to be this close to him again? To feast her eyes on a man she had once loved to distraction— and told him so.

Briefly she closed her eyes as she remembered whispering it to him, on that last, terrible evening. And the way he had just ignored her trembling statement.

Try and obliterate the past, she told herself, but she stared down at the food on her plate without really seeing it.

‘You aren’t really hungry at all, are you, Sienna?’ he said, his silken voice weaving its way into her troubled thoughts.

He breathed her name in a way she remembered him once breathing it in passion, putting the emphasis on the last syllable and holding it in his mouth as if it were a mouthful of fine wine.

‘Not really, no.’ He was looking at her in a way which was making whispers of longing tiptoe over her flesh—and she had to snap out of it.

She needed to protect herself against his enchantment, and she found herself wondering how other women coped. Surely she couldn’t be the only woman he bewitched with his curiously old-fashioned air of mastery and chauvinism? And women weren’t supposed to be bewitched by qualities such as those. They were supposed to look for tolerance and compassion —not simply the desire to be swept off their feet by a flashing-eyed Alpha man.

She laid her fork down and pushed her plate away. ‘Well, since we’ve tied up the business side of things, and neither of us looks as if we’re about to tuck into the food, then you’ll forgive me if I take my leave—’

‘No.’ The word was emphatic. ‘I will not. You aren’t going anywhere because I haven’t finished with you. Not yet.’

Did he mean to make her sound disposable? she wondered. Like something he could just crumple up and throw away? And suddenly it wasn’t easy not to be intimidated, to take charge and be calm and unflappable —all the things she had learnt to do in order to survive and succeed.

Maybe this was one conversation she couldn’t get out of having, and maybe it was a waste of time to try. Like having a tooth pulled—wasn’t that ravaging moment of pain worth it just for the blessed relief you felt afterwards?

‘Well, fire away, Hashim,’ she said, using her last bit of bravado. ‘And get whatever it is you want to say off your chest.’